Owen thought it over and finally chose the only card he had left to play—the pistol in his hand. He raised it high, steady and cold. "All of you, get out. Now!" Cyril narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed. "You think you can hog all the supplies for yourself? That's a little greedy, don't you think?" As he spoke, he stepped forward. Owen fired into the air. The gunshot cracked across the neighborhood, sharp and deafening. "I'm warning you—one more step and I'll shoot! If you know what's good for you, leave!" However, Cyril did not back off. He did not move closer either—just stood his ground.The standoff dragged on until suddenly he barked, "Go!" A wave of guys surged forward like a flood. Owen's face went pale. Are they crazy? Don't they care about dying?! He pulled the trigger again and again, shooting wildly into the crowd. He wanted to take out the leader, but Cyril was hidden in the mob, making it impossible to target. So Owen fired blindly, hoping to drop whoever he could. However, even when a few were hit, the rest did not slow down. They just kept charging. It was only 30 feet between them. In seconds, they swarmed him, tackling him to the ground. His gun was ripped away, his body pinned down. Owen's eyes were wide with shock. Are they not afraid of dying?"You're insane! All of you!" In less than a minute, two were dead and five wounded, but his bullets had not scared them at all. His "backup" completely collapsed, crying and begging for mercy on the ground. "This has nothing to do with us! We don't even know Owen, we're just his neighbors! He forced us at gunpoint to come down and make it look like he had more people!" "Yeah, yeah! We didn't do anything!" "We're willing to cooperate with you guys and hand over our food supplies!" They all scrambled to cut ties with Owen, talking over each other as if they had not been the ones raiding homes under his protection. Seeing them switch sides so shamelessly made Owen's blood boil. Not long ago, they were all Boss this and Boss that, acting like family. Now they pretended they had never even met him! Upstairs, Natalie leaned against the window, watching. "Pathetic," she muttered. She thought Owen was dangerous, that even if he lost, he would at least make the other side bleed for it. However, after all that gunfire, he had only killed two. She had given him way too much credit. Cyril stepped out of the crowd, grinning. "What's the matter? Didn't think you'd lose? Thought waving a pistol around made you king? You really think we're all cowards?" He raised his voice. "Alright, boys! Grab all his supplies! "Seventy percent goes to the families of the dead and injured! The rest, we split! Anyone hurt gets triple!"The men roared in agreement and rushed upstairs. What Owen did not know was that what set them apart from regular residents was not just guts—it was organization. They lived like a pack—so even if someone got injured or killed, their family would still get extra benefits. Every time supplies were collected, those families got a larger share than the rest. In other words, dying was sometimes more valuable than staying alive. These guys did not work, spent all day hanging out together, and idealized gangster brotherhoods. In the apocalypse, with no laws to hold them back, every fight turned into a reckless show of toughness. Even if death was on the line, they saw it as a glorious way to go—proving their loyalty while also making sure their families got more rations.The ones who came out unscathed did not mind either. Since they had already taken over the neighborhood, supplies would flow in steadily. There was no hurry. Cyril, relishing the sour look on Owen's face, took his gun and played with it. The magazine was empty, but after patting him down, he found a fully loaded spare. He slapped Owen on the shoulder with a grin. "Too bad, your gun—and these 15 rounds—belong to me now." Then he barked an order, "Search the place carefully. See if he's got any more ammo hidden." After more than an hour, they had stripped the 13th floor of all its supplies. They also dragged Elena out of hiding. Her hair was messy, and she looked utterly shaken.Cyril walked over, pinched her chin, and gave her a once-over. "Not bad," he said with a smirk. "Boys, this woman's coming with us." Elena's face drained of color, and she desperately turned to Owen for help.